Rue's Reaping
by KeTai
Summary: this is my first story on fanfic so may not be much good but i don't know that so your going to have to tell me. Please read and review. It's the reaping again, but this time it's from Rue's point of veiw...
1. Chapter 1

**Rue's story **

_This is when Rue gets chosen at the reaping.(I'm being Rue) My first story on fanfic (ahhhhh) please read and review probably no good. I haven't even started yet so I can't say what happens…_

I stand with the other twelve year olds, praying. I'm praying for many things, of course; everyone prays on reaping day. I'm praying for my younger siblings, that they will never have to feel how I feel this minute (but of course they will) and I'm praying that my mother isn't too worried (but of course she is). And I'm praying that my fear doesn't show on my face (but it probably does.)

And, of course, I'm praying that the unthinkable will not happen. It's unthinkable, for sure, but it could happen. My family's first reaping since my mother survived her 12-18 years. If the unthinkable happens, it will tear apart so many people. Our first reaping, and I'm gone. We would have signed up for Terressae only to have one less mouth to feed. In some ways I'm comforted. Even if…it happens, at least they'll all be more comfortable. And there's no way my name could come out. Out of all those thousands of slips, my name is on how many? Ten, if that? The odds are in my favour, I tell myself, more than they'll ever be. You can enjoy your Terressae, there's nothing, nothing to worry about.

I hate myself so much for trying to cover my thoughts up with such a weak lie. And I hate the unthinkable. I hate a lot of things but there's not much I can do. Maybe I'll be doing myself a favour by being picked? Maybe my life will get better. Maybe my death will be better than my life.

Is death is the most comforting thing you can think of? I ask myself. Well, yes it is. That and the unthinkable not happening.

I glance over at my mother who gives me a weak smile. I glance at the other twelve-year-olds. Some are crying. Some are completely still, looking petrified. Others look different. Almost relaxed...no not quite.

The reaping bowl is spinning. I fix my eyes on it, praying again. Then I stop myself; what's the use in praying? Who am I praying to? Not the Capitol, that's for sure.

The bowl speeds up. I bite my lip, turning every possibility over and over in my mind. I have never felt so tense. It's almost ironic the way a dark cloud covers district 11 in those seconds. I look up at the grey sky. Now even the sun has gone, everything seems so, so miserable.

'Good luck to you all and may the odds be…'

'For-_ever _in your favour,' I mimic our tiresome escort's words under my breath before she has said them. I think half of the rest of district 11 did, too.

The bowl slows gradually and the next few moments seem to edge by at a snails pace. My eyes are shut and I feel a drop of water n my cheek. I hope I'm not crying. I open my eyes and realise it has started to rain. Lucky. As lucky as I'm going to get, I think.

And the worst thing is, I'm right.

I hear my name echo through the crowds and I drop to my knees, breathing heavily, taking everything in. I feel every head turn towards me but all I can do is shake my head in my knees and whisper 'no…' over again. I rock on the floor for a moment before my legs force me to straighten up. I stagger mechanically up to the stage my face pale. The crowds are murmuring. With sympathy? Maybe; nobody thinks it's fair when a twelve year old is chosen. I catch a glimpse of my mother: she's as still and pale as me. Her expression is unfathomable.

A heavy gust of wind suddenly blows across the stage. Our escort holds onto her turquoise hair (undoubtedly a wig) and makes a cheerful explanation. She shakes my hand and babbles in my ear, but I'm not listening. I'm looking at my family; I know this is the last chance I'll get to see them. There's no way I'm coming back. We all know that. Because I'm not going to kill anyone. I promised myself that, years ago, when I watched the Hunger games on the district screen for the first time. It was so horrible, so unfair, and such a despondent experience that I swore: if ever I was chosen, I would not kill a soul. I would hide somewhere, anywhere, for as long as I could before I was killed. I told my mother and she smiled and whispered something. I wish so much I could remember what she said.

Now, though, I am reconsidering my promise. I want to come back. I want to come back to my District 11 of backbreaking agriculture, long hours, cruel loops of barbed wire. Brutal peacekeepers. I want to return to the place where you can be whipped for eating your own crops instead of giving them to the capitol. I'm spending my last moments there and already I'm aching for it.

The male chosen is Thresh. I only know him briefly, but we exchange weak smiles as he climbs on stage. He looks nearly as worried as I do. And he's got a chance of winning – a good chance. I hope he wins, but I don't want him to kill me. I hope I'm killed by someone I never get the chance to see beforehand.

Our escort makes another announcement but my ears are still blocking out any sound other than the wind. I feel my hand lift and give a small wave. Something grabs my arm and begins to pull me away, as if in slow motion. And as I walk, I cannot year my eyes away from my family, my home. I know I will never see it again. Anyone again. I wonder if anyone is noticing me leaving. I can hear Thresh's name being called from all angles; he's a good worker and everyone will miss him. I strain my ears for anyone calling my name, but nothing comes. Even my own family are silent, unfathomable as ever. I wonder what's going through their heads? Probably a mixture between grief and relief. And even that hurts.

And as the district gets smaller and smaller and the crowds in it begin to leave, I find myself wondering if maybe it's for the best that I'm the one walking into my death sentence.

And that hurts too.

_please read and review __. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They didn't give me a chance to say goodbye. I asked. They said they were 'behind schedule.'

So, I was marched straight up to the station by two peace keepers, one on each side, with Thresh behind me and Fesh, our escort, in front, piping at us how we still have to pick up District 12 and if we carry on at this rate then there won't _be _any of district 12's contenders.

Good, I thought.

'What _ever _is Effie going to say when we turn up this late?' she cried, wringing her dyed-orange hands, 'They'll have finished their reaping long before we get there and it's at least an hour away and…'

So now I lay here, on my luxury bed in District 11's quarters, trying to work out what the last thing I said to my family was. What was the last thing my mother said to me? I roll over and allow my thoughts to wander back to when we last spoke. Yesterday, I suppose…

We had argued. It was our family's turn to dig, which always put's her in a bad mood. So the seven of us strode up and down the brown fields, stabbing the cracked ground with our wooden shovels in an attempt to make a reasonable-sized hole for the seeds to go in. W had to make four rows, which meant about 800 holes each.

We were trying to work at similar paces so we could stay together when a Peacekeeper gave her a sharp jab in the back and told her to 'get moving.' She told them we were holding her back. This made me so angry that I started shouting at her, right in front of the Peacekeepers. They dragged us out and gave us a good 'talking to' about creating 'Disturbances' and the importance of completing as much work as possible for the Capitol. And if either of us said a word, we received a blow or a shaking. And when they finally sent us back again; neither of us was very happy with the other.

'If you were picked for the reaping tomorrow,' she snapped at me, 'I would not have to tolerate half so much nonsense. I wish you would, you know that Rue, I do.' And we didn't speak for the rest of the day, or next morning for that matter. And I had completely forgotten about it all until now. I wonder if she remembered during the reaping. I wonder what she's thinking now.

By the time the train comes to a halt to pick up District 12's contenders, I am on the verge of going to sleep, and my pillow is soaked with tears. I try to think about positive things, but my brain fails to find anything from that category. So I lay, staring at the ceiling, willing my mind to clear of all thoughts. I close my eyes and for a moment I feel almost relaxed. I breath in slowly and then let it out, imagining that in that breath are the Hunger Games, and that they're gone and the train is taking me home. But I know perfectly well that that thought is about as convincing as Fesh's turquoise hair.

'Fesh and Thresh,' I murmur. They sound good together. I smile and laugh a little; why am I thinking about such things?

I wonder who our mentor is going to be? Do we get one each, or do we share? And we get prep teams too, everybody says. And stylists. I wonder what I'll be wearing for the opening parade. And we have to meet the interviewer, too, and all the Game designers.

I sigh; so many people help these games to happen. Some of them have nothing to do with the Games themselves, I know, but I still feel such loathing for every being that helps in anyway. It's their fault. They make it happen. Everything…but…not really…yet….

I can't even describe how I feel to myself. All I know is that I hate it. Everything. The games, the Capitol, District 11…everything.

Suddenly, I hear a knock. I sit up, rub my eyes and put on a fake smile. I don't need Fesh thinking I'm a weakling.

But it's not Fesh; it's Thresh.

'Hi,' he says, 'I thought I'd – can I…'

'Yeah,' I say. He walks carefully over to my bed and sits on the edge, silently. Neither of us says anything for some time, until the train starts moving again. 'Why did that take so long?' I ask.

'Delays,' he says quietly. 'Apparently, a twelve-year-old was picked and her sister volunteered. And then they took ages saying goodbye…I don't really know.'

But I'm not listening to the last bit; 'Apparently?' I frown, 'According to…?'

He goes a bit red as he answers: 'Reed. The mentor. Our mentor.' He says shortly.

It takes me a few moments to work out why he's embarrassed: 'Have you already spoken to him?' I ask, still unsure.

He nods, 'He came in.'

'What did he say?'

He's definitely embarrassed now. 'He said …he said he thinks I have a good chance.'

'Oh, really?' I say, 'Is – is he coming to see me?'

But Thresh just shrugs in answer. 'We'll be at the Capitol by tomorrow. In the meantime, our prep teams will…. meet us.' And he gets up and walks right out of the door, leaving me just as confused as before. Is he going to help me? Kill me? I know him a little; he lives quite close. I can't picture him teaming up with me. What if he goes with the careers? What if he kills me? What if…?

I shake myself: I have to stop worrying; there'll be plenty of time for that later. So I curl up under the silky covers and place my head on the plump pillow. I may as well enjoy these luxuries while I have them. I can hear two voices outside my door. The District 12 tributes. I listen:

'Katniss, you have a chance, you know that, don't you?'

'Get lost Peeta, I want to be on my own.'

'Fine. Anyway, I need to talk to Haymitch.'

'Why bother? You think he's going to be sober enough to hear a word you say?'

'More than you anyway.'

I hear them stamp past. I shrug. Maybe I can team up with them? I certainly won't survive on my own. I need allies. I shut my eyes in an attempt to block the whole world out. A few seconds later, unintentionally, I fall asleep.

'_Over here,' Fesh whispers, 'quick…'_

_I'm hardly awake yet, but I stagger over as she pulls me. 'If you want me to stay as your ally, you have to do as I say. We're behind schedule, you know…'_

_I blink; Fesh is my ally? I look around the arena: is it the arena? I suppose it must be. I'm in a space. Just a big, blue space. We seem to be floating, but we walk as if on solid ground. We are surrounded by dark shapes that glide around I the blue air. And that's it. There's nothing else there but Fesh pulling me behind one of the dark shapes. 'Here he comes,' she whispers. _

_And suddenly, out of nowhere, Thresh appears, but his skin is bright red and he's grinning strangely. He stands next to us, silently, still grinning. He's holding a pickaxe. 'Looking Fresh,' he says. _

'_What?' I ask. And suddenly the scene dissolves. My mothers voice comes through: _

''_If you were picked for the reaping tomorrow, I would not have to tolerate half so much. I wish you were, you know that…._

_I land in a pile of hay. Suddenly, I'm in District 11, being chased by Thresh and Fesh and….my family? And the boy from District 12. I wonder how I know who he is; I never saw him exactly. I pick up speed, running at such a speed that the scene is blurry. I swing myself up a tree and climb high, fast, hand over hand. My family and Thresh are left at the bottom, trying in vain o climb up. I laugh triumphantly, but when I look up, Fesh is there, somehow, impossibly, on the branch above me. How? _

'_Too Fresh, Thresh,' he says, 'But it sounds good…' and he pushes me through the branches, I'm screaming and lashing out as District 11 turns into the Arena again. And I'm falling into it, Fesh's face still in mine as I race down….down…' _

I sit up in the bed, gasping for breath. 'Wha- what?' I gasp.

'I just said "dinner"' comes Fesh's irritated voice from the doorway. I let out a tiny scream and back away. Fesh ignores me. 'Hurry up; we're waiting,' she says, and turns down the corridor.

It takes a few moments for the word "Dinner" to sink in, as I readjust myself to the real world again. Dinner…of course: eat. Fesh has called me to eat. I'm eating. Not being eaten…dinner. Time to get out of bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The room I find myself following Fesh into is big. It's a lot of other things too, but that's the first word that comes into my head. And it is big: like the mayors banqueting hall – no, bigger – like something from the Capitol. Then I remind myself that this is the Capitol – or as close as I've ever been before.

The room is decorated grandly and the carpet is so soft and dense that I feel myself sigh as I sink my bare toes into it. Apart from my shoes, which I took off as soon as I could, I'm still in my reaping clothes. There was a large wardrobe in my room, I remember now, but it never even crossed my mind to open it. In the centre of the room is a long, rectangular table surrounded by ten tall, velvet-padded chairs. The table is covered in a heavy, red cloth that looks like heaven to wear. To me, the whole thing looks a little ridiculous.

At home, we eat around a small, clay table on wooden stools, in a room so low down that you have to stoop your head to get through the doorway. We eat by candlelight, usually, or some sort of fire. There are seven of us, including my mother, and all of us but her have to share a stool. It's family time, and it's reassuring feeling how close we all are. We eat Terrasse bread, berries, nuts and old vegetables: the ones not good enough to send off to the Capitol. And the occasional dairy product from our goat and chickens. Good, simple food. An egg for breakfast, perhaps, or a little milk. Terrasse and nuts or berries for lunch. And perhaps a turnip for supper. That's on a good day. We barely ever get meat of course, and we usually have one or two meals a day, if that. Several days I've gone with nothing.

The food at this table, however, looks so luxurious and rich; I can hardly stop myself from dribbling and running to grab everything I can. Plates and dishes steaming everywhere – hot food! – and they smell so good. I take a deep breath in and the heavenly fumes shoot up my nostrils. I think my eyes are watering now – perhaps I've run out of space in my mouth.

I dash over to the table and sit in the only empty seat, opposite Thresh, whist Fesh takes her place at the head of the table, opposite a man whom I assume to be Reed. I have never seen anybody else there, but they are all evidently from the Capitol (how can you mistake such people for anyone else?) I suppose they must be our prep teams or whatever. Hu. When I am done taking in my company, I take a closer look at the food. Some of it looks like the vegetables we have at home, but cleaner, riper, and in every way better - I wonder how many of them I've been forced to grow? – but most of the food is unrecognisable. I can't wait to try everything.

I lift up my elbows to slam them contentedly down on the table, but they don't hit the table; they knock against something china. I look down, and see a large, yet dainty plate under my brown elbows. (Another thing we seldom use at home.) Around the plate are several metal tools. One looks like a tiny pitch fork, another has a round, jagged blade. Only one I recognise: a spoon. But it's not chunky and wooden like the ones we have at home; it's silver and slender. Odd.

But these tools are the last thing I want to think about. I grab the nearest dish and pile some of its substances onto my plate. Then I find another dish and do the

same. I repeat this until my plate is towering with various eatables and cannot possibly hold anymore. Then I dig in my fist and bring the food up to my mouth. I close my eyes in satisfaction as I chew vigorously and the food runs down into my empty stomach. I immediately feel better than I have done in days; I have just eaten the equivalent to a whole meal in District 11 and there are still piles and piles left…

I soon entirely forget where I am or who I am with. All I can think of is eating as much as I possibly can. I need to eat before I go to the arena, that's for sure. So I gorge myself in everything I can reach, sometimes lapping up the last scraps with my tongue before reaching out and grabbing more. I'm stuffed, I know I am, but I can't stop. I really feel as if I could eat forever. Until Fesh lets out a loud scream and I start with surprise, and then a little fright. Fesh is screaming at – me?

I open my sticky hands and a gooey, lumpy substance I recognised as apple sauce drips out of my hand and onto a cake. Fesh looks as if she's going to explode.

'Have you never eaten before, you animal?' she asks me. I shake my head.

'Not really,' I tell her. It was evidently the wrong answer because she goes red and carries on.

'Well, I don't care if you eat like an animal in that hole of yours, girly, but here you eat properly, with your knife and fork, you got it?'

I wave the mini pitch fork at her, and the other thing which I now recognise as, like she said, a knife. 'These?' I ask. She nods curtly. 'There much better as weapons don't you think? And by the way, that "hole" is what you gave me to live in so don't mock it.' And I throw the fork in her direction. Not at her, but in her direction. It hits the table with a thud. Then I realise what I've done. 'Oh,' I say. I feel the colour drain out of my face. I shouldn't have lost my temper.

Ten seconds later, Reed (I guessed right) has me pinned up against the wall in the corridor. He's fuming. 'What were you thinking'? He hisses. I say nothing, so he shakes me. 'You stupid girl, your lucky if they don't kill you for that!' I can't tell if he's worried for me or angry. Maybe a mixture. No, he's not worried for me. 'Why did you do it? You didn't think you'd get away with it, surely?'

No, I suppose I didn't. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I suppose I was mad at her for blaming me for what I've learned in my filthy home. The one she made me live in. I just got mad. Sadly, I shake my head. Now I'm starting to wonder what they'll do to me. Kill me? No, they can't find another tribute now. Anyway, would they kill someone for throwing a fork and standing up to the Capitol? Well, yes they would.

I hope they just do something like home. I don't want them to hurt my family, however much we pretend to hate each other. Maybe they won't give me any more food? What if they think something up to make sure I'm killed first in the arena? I hope they just punish me how they might at home. The Mayor's very strict about all the laws and condemns people to one fate or another every hour. Several times he's ordered me to be or locked up for stealing crops. I can handle being locked in the stocks or whatever. (Any person can be punished brutally: children, adults and the like). Maybe that's all they'll do. Maybe they won't do anything at all. I doubt it somehow.

'Well?' demands Reed, but when I fail to answer, he just throws me down and marches off, but not before he's given me a sharp blow on my cheek. Then he slams the door to the dinner hall and I know that that's all I'll be eating for some time.

I head back to my room and collapse on the bed. I realise I'm crying; why did I have to screw up so early on. I miss my family, suddenly, so much. I wish I was back there. Even with my mother shouting at me or threatening to report me to the mayor for some non-existent crime, just so she can get rid of me, or watch me suffer. It's happened before: one time, she had a head ache and I was playing with our dog, Scruffy. (His name suits him.) He's mine, really; he was a stray when I found him, starving. But I loved him and felt sorry for him, so she let me keep him.

Anyway, I was playing with him and he accidently jumped on my mother, who wasn't very well. Usually, she would have just beaten me like she usually does, but she was in a dreadful mood and marched me straight up to the mayor. (Actually, she dragged me; I was hardly enthusiastic about going.) I wasn't too worried, though; telling the mayor that her daughter's dog landed on her and grazed her knee was hardly going to get her anywhere. But she didn't tell him that. When he opened the door, she literally threw me at him:

'I caught her,' she told him, 'I caught her stealing crops. Yours, sir, your own form your garden. Eating them like a pig, she was. I thought I'd best leave her with you.' And she marched off, just like that, leaving me in the large arms of our vicious mayor. I started to weep, protest, cry for mercy. I was only ten, and I was naturally terrified.

The mayor sat my down and gave me a long "talk." He was very angry and spat each word at me as if I was some sort of rat and he was catching me with poison words. Every time I protested, he would only shout louder or threaten me, or slam down his walking cane on the floor, or my sweating hands. Eventually, he told me that the usual penalty would be death. I let out a scream, wondering how much trouble my mother really wanted me in. Then he told me that, as I was only ten, he would spare my life. But he gave me my first ever public whipping in the town square.

My mother came to watch me and, when I was released (probably unconscious) she carried me back to the house and locked me in our cellar for the rest of the day. She did not take me to the doctor, nor did she treat me in any way. I was only given twenty lashes, and I was never going to die, but I spent the rest of that day, and many more, stuck on my bed in unbearable agony, trying to move, trying not to stain my blanket too much, trying to ignore the deep cuts that had torn into my flesh. I recovered a few days later enough to hobble up the stairs and beg her for something to eat, for some sympathy. She gave me a cabbage and walked out of the room. We didn't speak for weeks.

I try to push the painful memory out of my head, but I can't help but place my hand on my back and finger the long, red scars across it. Then I put my fingers to my face and feel the swollen patch under my eye. Life for me seems to be constructed by nothing but hatred, work and beatings. Why do these Capitol people think they can make our lives hell by killing us, when life itself is worse? At least for those of us in the poorest districts. It makes me wonder what the tributes form District 12 must live like. Could they possibly have a worse life than us? I wish I could ask one of them, but I don't want to become to friendly with people I may have to kill.

_But you won't kill anyone, Rue, remember? _No, I won't. I mustn't. I'm not going to win and it doesn't look like Reed is going to be much help either. I may as well die here and now, but I don't want to miss out on anymore food.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Over the next few days, things start to improve for me. I still have a red swollen patch on my cheek but, apart from the physical side of it, I'm feeling a lot less pain.

It has been three days since the escapade at dinner, and I have been relieved to find that I have caused no major damage. They have still let me eat at mealtimes, and I am gradually becoming accustomed to using the pitchfork and bladed handle, which I must now call 'knife and fork' or 'cutlery.' It's very irritable but I cannot deny that I am feeling much better fed than ever before, even if the rich foodstuffs do give me the worst stomach cramps. Unfortunately, both Fesh and Reed are acting very coolly towards me, and I'm starting to wonder how much mentoring I'm going to get.

We have finally reached the Capitol, and it's true that the television footage they show of it is as accurate; the city really is dazzling. No, more; the small amount of it that I've seen so far has literally blown my mind. Thousands of these odd, ludicrous people wandering round, piping in their silly Capitol accent about the latest make-ups, or about the first parade, which is taking place very soon. And, surrounding them, are the buildings. Fifty stories high, shining white with hundreds of windows dotted around them. Even the pavements appear to be sparkling; they look almost plastic, not at all like the rough tracks and wooden huts we have.

And there's not a blade of grass in sight. No vegetation, no crops, trees, no nothing. They travel around in machines, not horses, so even animals are unsighted. As much as I loathe the system of the districts, especially what they've done to the poorest districts, and as astounded as I am by the light of the famous Capitol, I can't help thinking what a dismal place it must be to live in. To me, I mean. These people can spend their time getting metal stuck into their body, or having their nose altered, skin dyed, tattoo's added. Or watch us all fight to our deaths. They have plenty to do. I wonder what I'd be like if I had of been brought up in the Capitol?

Thresh is being a little friendlier, too. He came into my room last night when I woke up screaming after seeing Fesh throw a proper pitchfork in my direction whist Reed was holding me against the wall. He calmed me down and actually told me it would be "all right." Some imagination he's got. But the words did sooth me. I wonder if he has nightmares? I can't imagine him having any weaknesses; he seems so tough and fearless. I truly believe he will be the one who wins the games.

Today, the prep teams are "preparing" us for the parade. First, my body will be "prepared" before my stylist will sort me out a costume. Our costumes are always dreadful, nearly as bad as District 12's. We have to wear something that reflects our district. And we're Agriculture, so the odds are that I'll being walking out there as a tomato. I can't wait.

Around 10 o'clock, just after breakfast (why do the Capitol people get out of bed so tiresomely late?) the prep team ushers me out into a small, square room, entirely painted white. I find myself squinting as they lead me in; it's so bright. There are three of them: they introduce themselves as Whilessa, Veninam and Begdanon. Both of the last two are male, which makes me feel very awkward. Each of them have coloured skin, dyed hair and some ridiculous number of tattoo's piercings and the rest. I long to tell them how sick they make me feel, but I force myself to clamp my mouth shut as they remove the yellow dress I found in my bedroom wardrobe. There were all sorts of clothes there, from slinky black evening dresses to frilly pink party ones. But there were no trousers. Nothing at all that I would usually wear. I was hoping to find a tunic of some sort, or maybe a thick, rug-like dress, or some comfortable trousers, but there's nothing but dresses in there. So I chose the most practical. It's lighter than my usual dresses, and much more flimsy. It made me feel quite vulnerable at first. It came with matching shoes, but shoes have never been my thing so I didn't put them on. Over the last few days, I have come to like the dress and I have not even taken it off to wash. So it is almost a disappointment when this odd, turquoise Capitol man slips on tight, white gloves that make a cracking sound like a whip and he snaps them onto his wrists, and pulls it right over my head, leaving me standing in front of them all, naked, feeling very self conscious. At least the people in District 11 have heard of modesty.

The next few hours are near to the worst of my life. These Capitol people to not bounce around and pipe in their funny accent like all the other's I have met. They are dead serious and do not talk to me at all as they rid my body of hair, grime and the likes. They use their coloured hands to force me into awkward positions as they smear cream after cream and yank hair after hair out of me. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes, waiting for all the embarrassment and pain to be over. These people see me as a machine and do not take any notice of how I am feeling. In some ways, this is comforting; after all, these people must do this year after year, so naked bodies can hardly mean anything to them. I try to fix this thought into my mind as they begin smearing something onto me that makes my whole body tingle and itch.

A little later, they work on my face and hair. Whilessa tells me in a bored voice that they can't do too much on my face before my stylist has agreed. This relieves me a little; I have been staring in horror at her blueberry skin and gold tattoos and praying for the best, and it gives me the boldness I need to ask if I can please put my dress back on whilst they do my face.

'No!' exclaims Veninam, looking as horrified as myself and, without giving me a reason for his rejection, sits me in a white chair and props my feet up on a stool. He forces my chin up and the three of them begin prodding my face with tweezers, plucking my eyebrows and painting my lips with red, which is then wiped off and replaces with pink, which is finally replaced my a browny-gold. I secretly quite like the colour, but do not give them the pleasure of hearing me say so. They also paint my face with the exact same brown as my skin, which seems rather pointless to me. They brush my teeth with an odd machine that goes _whrrrrr. _Then, they run some sort of comb through my eyelashes which leaves a gooey substance in them and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

I was hoping they would leave my hair alone. It falls past my waist in a tangled, matted state, and looks thicker than it really is. I hate brushing it and I pray they'll leave it how it is. But Whilessa tells me I look like a wild animal. I tell her that is good but they force brush after brush through my hair, massage cream into it, rinse it and then yank more brushes through it with such force that my eyes begin to water. It is all I can do not to scream out Eventually, Begdanon takes a pair of scissors and cuta out two knots that they cannot undo. I can feel my hair against my skin now, sleek and silky.

They tell me to stand up and I try once again to sneak my dress back. Whilessa catches me and spits in my face.

'Stop it!' she shouts at me, yanking my hair and thrusting my face up to look into her own 'Stop it or we ask your stylist not to give you any clothes at all for the parade and you can walk out there stark naked like District 12, got it?'

I nod and she lets me go. How I wish I had some cheerful stylists. I wonder if they are all this brutal. But I leave my dress and tell myself that I must not touch it again. I picture myself walking through the Capitol with nothing on and decide that I would rather be naked in this small, white room than naked in the street with the whole of Panem watching. Besides, I remind myself, I can't afford to get into any more trouble.

So I stand still.

Whilessa pushes a full length mirror in front of me and I stare into it's shiny glass. At first I don't recognise the tiny, clean figure standing in it, but when I scratch my nose and it copies me, I realise that I am staring at Rue. Not me, but Different Rue.

Different Rue has brown skin, like a nut. But it is not as rough as a nutcase like my skin. It is smooth and looks a little artificial. It is hairless too, which makes it look lighter. The cream they have smeared on it is so thick around my ribcage that I can barely see the bones. I do not look like that; my ribs stick out of my skin like twigs. It also covers up all the scars and cuts and bruises on my back from every beating, strapping or whipping I have received. Different Rue still looks skinny, but not as thin and worn as I do. Her legs are not as spindly either. Even the bruise on her cheek is covered.

Different Rue has gold, glossy lips that reveal white, shiny teeth when they open. I have dry, cracked lips which reveal yellowing teeth. Not unhealthy, but not shining like these. My face does not shine, or glitter in the light either. Different Rue's does. Different Rue's eyes look big, with black around them like tiger eyes. I hate the tiger eyes. They look horrible. And Different Rue has long, black eyelashes too, and gold eyelids. I do not like Different Rue's eyes.

But the most obvious difference of all between Different Rue and I is the hair. My tangled mat is mirrored with glossy hair, dark brown that ripples when I move and reflects the white light. It falls right down to my knees. I did not realise my hair was so long.

I look at different Rue. I decide I do not like her much. I smile at her. She smiles back.

Uncertainly, with hatred in her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

My stylist is called Had. I do not like him at all.

When my lifeless stylists summoned him, he strode in, saw me standing naked by the mirror and burst out laughing. He pointed at me and said something I chose to ignore at him. I scowled at him. Luckily, my prep team did too. He stopped, but looked at me with a sarcastic sympathised face. I returned it, mockingly.

I wait for my prep team to leave the room. Had tells me to follow him into the hall where he will tell me about the costume I will be wearing. I ask if I can put on my dress.

'No, you must be proud of your new body, so why not show it off?' he asks me. I feel myself turn red and clasp my hands across my chest. He snickers. I remind myself that the Different Rue is actually me. He is still staring at my body. I do not want to follow him anywhere.

'Come on,' he tells me, opening the door. I shake my head, forgetting that I swore to myself that I would not get into any more trouble. I look at him, observing him for the first time. He is big, even bigger than Thresh, and looks very muscly. It is hard to tell what colour he has dyed his skin under all his tattoos and piercings' which cover his whole body. It looks green, I think. He has an earring in one ear and jet black hair which has been shaved into an odd pattern. His teeth look like they are made of gold. He's wearing leather. Some of us use leather bags in District 11, but we never wear it. He has a black leather jacket, trousers and boots. His jacket is open revealing more tattoos and a scary amount of muscles. I realise how powerful he must feel, standing there like a giant, invincible, wearing tough, shiny clothes, towering over a tiny, twelve year old girl, completely naked, extremely skinny, no fighting skills whatsoever…(that he knows of)

Then I see how powerful he _is. _I find that I am very scared of him. He could easily break my neck with one fist. I wonder what costume he could possibly have in mind for me. Maybe he's going to send me out like this, just to show everybody what a weakling I am. The thought makes me shudder.

The next thing I know, he has slung me over his shoulder and is carrying me through the train corridor, towards the hall. I bang my fists on his back, but I doubt he even feels them. A few people pass him and laugh when they see me on his back. He bursts into the hall and thrusts me into a chair. I sit, trembling, trying to hold my gaze. I draw my legs up to my chest to cover myself out he pulls them down and places his boot on my foot. I feel my toes crush under the weight. He must like his power.

'Right,' he growls, 'Let's talk about your costume for the parade. Agriculture. Not exactly interesting?'

It is cold in the hall and Goosebumps rise on my skin. I wonder if it's from cold or fear. I shiver again. He carries on:

'To me, you look like a little girl. Which is what you are. I've had a chat with your mentor and we've both agreed that your best strategy will be to play the little one. Convince every one that you are a small, frightened little girl. You look like a weakling to me, anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard. Your mentor would like a talk with you afterwards, by the way. I suppose he wants to tell you more about your strategies, but that's all he told me. And that's all I need to know. I need to make you look like exactly what you are: a weakling. A girl. Whatever; they're both the same thing.

'They are not!' I protest. He ignores me.

'But,' he continues, 'I have to include Agriculture in your costume. Which means I can't send you out like that. Which is a pity. I thought District12 played that very well a few years ago, don't you? And it would be perfect for you. I could just send you out and everyone will see how vulnerable you were straight off. Look at you now, trembling. Shivering, embarrassed. That's exactly how I want to portray you. I wanted to see it now.'

So, that's why, I think, trying to stop myself shaking to prove him wrong. I don't want to go out looking like a weakling. I tell him. He laughs scornfully.

'Tough,' he tells me. We're both silent for a few minutes before he continues. 'So,' he says, 'You're going to play the part of the little farmer's girl. Very sweet, very small, traditional outfit. Thresh will be going out as a strong, unbeatable worker, to show everybody he's tough. You, next to him, will be the perfect contrast.' He places a black bag on my lap and I wonder how I never noticed him carrying it. 'Put it on,' he tells me.

Eager to feel something against my skin once again, I rip open the bag and take out the costume. It's dull, very. And over-the-top. One look at it and I know I'll look ridiculous. It's made up from layers and layers off thick, ugly fabric with patches. The patches are colourful, which makes no sense. When we patch our clothes, we use similar fabric, not polka dot yellow or zebra-print.

It's a dress. Or many dresses. Had shows me the order they go on. First is a short, white one, it's thin and flimsy like the yellow dress. He tells me it's a petticoat. Next is a pale-brown blouse made to look old and dirty, with holes in it. It has no sleeves and looks odd on top of the white dress, especially as that is so clean. Then, Had pulls on a skirt which comes down to my knees. It's dark brown, mostly, and seems to be made from scraps of different fabrics. It's very dense and quite heavy. It falls about me like a bundle of rags. I feel like a beggar, yet it has an elastic waist and fits perfectly. The scraps fly out when I turn, as Had instructs. He says the prep team have chosen good colours for my eyes and lips. I wonder what that has to do with it. He tells me they match, which is odd because they are not the same colours.

Finally, he gives me a dark green corset which he threads tightly around the blouse. He ties a dirty white apron around the skirt and puts my hair into two ribbons. I feel ridiculous. I don't look anything like a 'farmer's girl.' We have farmers at home of course– we're all farmers. And we girls wear tunics and trousers, or occasionally brown dresses. But not aprons and corsets and ribbons and petticoats. I feel myself go red and I half wish I was standing in front of him naked again. The only good point to be said about the costume is that he leaves my feet bare. I like that; I never wear shoes at home.

Then Had does something which seems rather pointless to me. It makes tears come into my eyes for reasons I cannot explain. He takes out the green ribbons in my hair and throws them at the floor. Then, he takes out a knife and begins cutting my hair off. My hair has never been cut before. I don't like seeing it fall to the floor in heaps. Even a long, silky river is fine by me. I like my hair, especially matted and long like it was before. I don't like seeing it tumble to the floor. When he stops, it is not even down to my elbows. Then, he ties it back up in the ribbons. I look down at the floor sadly.

But then, the most ridiculous part of all comes. Had takes out a small box from the black back and opens it. It is filled with dirt. And, after the prep team have spent hours scraping grime from my skin, he thrusts up my chin and smears the dirt on my face. He licks his finger and rubs off the tiger eyes they gave me, but he leaves my gold lips and eyes. He smears dirt on my hands, legs and feet. I feel as if I am in District 11 again. Unwillingly, I like it. He even sprinkles some in my hair. Then, he leads me back to the white room and I stare at myself in the mirror.

The costume is silly. I look to girly and vulnerable, but that's what he wanted. It's unrealistic and theatrical, but it does look ragged, like the clothes we usually wear at home. And I like the dirt. Love it. Even my hair, which I do not like short and tied up, looks more normal. As I stare at the grimy face in the mirror, and the bare feet, the beggar clothes that look so exaggerated, I can't help realising that I really do look more like myself. I hate the costume and the way they're showing me up to be a poor weakling, but it's a relief to see Rue in the mirror again. I smile at the Poor Rue.

She smiles back. Nicely.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

'And now, I give you all…the tributes of Distriiiiict 8!'

The announcer booms in her silly Capitol accent, stretching the 'i' in District and rolling it around in her mouth as if it were a song. She does it every time and it's really starting to get on my nerves. District 8's tributes take their cue and stride across the built pathway, barred off with poles and ropes to prevent the screaming Capitol people from coming too close as they reach out with stained hands, eyes shut screaming with excitement, trying to touch the tributes. The crowds are loving the parade, no doubt about it. I'm not. I don't like seeing all the people who might kill me. I don't like seeing all the people who are probably going to be killed. I don't like seeing them wave and smile with confidence, knowing that I will never be able to mirror their actions. And I don't like standing in this room, waiting for my turn, in this ridiculous costume. Had wouldn't let me take it off last night so I was forced to sleep in this itchy, heavy fabric all night. In the morning, he shouted at me for smudging my make up and dirt and he re-did the whole thing, grumbling.

District 9 goes and I watch as 10's tributes step out of their small, box room, ready to make their parade. The girl looks confident. The boy wears a knowing smile. I wonder if it's part of his strategy. I scowl; I don't want to think about strategies. Reed never came to talk to me yesterday, and although Had reassured me and told me he would see me after the parade, I am seriously doubting my mentor.

District 10 finishes and I realise that now it's my turn. I suddenly feel even more self conscious in my ridiculous dress. Both Reed and Had are behind me. Thresh is beside me, flexing his muscles. He's dressed as a farmer too: he has a piece of cloth tied round his waist that is wound round his legs to make a thick bundle of fabric, a little like a pair of shorts. He also has a sweatband on his forehead. The rest of him is completely visible, so as to show how strong he is, I think. And I'm just another part of his costume, I remind myself bitterly; I look weak to show that he's strong. Well, I'll show everybody in the Arena what I can do.

'Look strong,' Reed tells Thresh.

'Show them what you can do,' says Had.

'They're going to _love _you!' Reed says. Thresh grins. Then Had turns to me.

'Remember, look small, innocent, scared, weak and stay out of Thresh's way. Look terrified of him.'

I scowl.

'And…'

I look up at him. He's smiling and sudden warmth spreads through me. Nobody has wished me luck since the Reaping. Nobody has said anything kind. I least expected it from Had. 'And…?' I say.

'Don't smudge your dirt.'

Which puts me in a bad mood for the whole thing.

When the announcer has finished swirling the 'i' in District and called our number, Thresh strides out confidently, flexing his arms, blowing kisses, looking like a winner. Gaining sponsors by the handful. I stamp out behind him, smiling as best as I can, but I'm worried my scowl shows more than my smile does. I give a shy wave, but nobody's looking at me. They're looking at Thresh, of course. Well, Had and Reed are going to be delighted, I think. This is exactly what they want it to be like. I have never felt so small.

Then something flickers inside me. A mixture between hatred, jealousness and rebel. But not for the Capitol. All of this burns in me all day, every day. But for the Capitol. And right this moment, all I want to do is show Reed and Had that I am not going to do what they tell me to keep Thresh alive. I will not be used like this. So I march up to Thresh's side and begin smiling and waving like he is. I do my best to look confident, like a winner. It's hard under the circumstances, of course, and my ridiculous costume. But I'm determined to do it.

'What are you _doing?_' Thresh hisses between waves and kisses. I ignore him. We are over half way along now. I focus on the audience and blow a kiss. 'Stop it!' Thresh tells me, 'You're ruining it!'

I ignore him again.

'You stupid girl, what are you doing?' he's angry now. He shoves me roughly behind him and I stumble for a moment as he marches on. The crowd quietens for a moment, murmuring and pointing, frowning. For a moment I think they are going to side with me and abominate Thresh for his move, but after a few seconds, they have evidently decided that he showed a great move of strength, courage. Of course, I think bitterly as the crowd scream and reach out to touch him, that showed him up even more. Now I've got no chance. Nothing to lose. So I stamp after him, tagging behind, all the way to the end, not even attempting a smile. I can see Reed and Had at the end, who have run round the crowds to be there. As we pass the ends of the crowds, they run straight up, congratulating Thresh.

'Excellent!'

'You really showed them what you were made of, lad!'

Then Reed turns to me. 'That was great!' he tells me. I frown, confused but something like pride or hope flutters inside me. 'Did you two work that move out together? You should have told me! It worked really well. You trying to copy him exactly and then him pushing you right back there! Brilliant! Perfectly timed! Now everybody sees Thresh as a winner.' He turns back to Thresh. 'It will take something to beat that! You need to watch out for Cato and Marvel from Districts 1 and 2. And the girl form 5. She looks sneaky. But we've seen everyone now and they're the only ones I think you need to be a little careful of. I really think 11 might have it this year!'

'We haven't seen 12 yet,' I remind him, trying to keep myself in the conversation. He frowns and looks down at me, irritated.

'12 are going at the moment. Go watch them if you want, girly, but I promise, they'll be no match for Thresh here. He'll be a mentor next year, I promise!'

I make a face at him, but I do go to watch 12. I love seeing the other costumes, even if I don't like seeing the other tributes. The worst so far has definitely been from the lumber district; they were trees! Then again, they're trees every year. Talk about boring.

I wander away from Reed, Had and Thresh and find a space in the room where I can watch without attracting attention. All the other tributes, mentors and stylists are crowded in the room. The entrance would be ideal, but that's guarded by District 12's mentor: Haymitch (who I remember because he fell off the stage at the reaping, or so Thresh said) and two Capitol people who must be the stylists. I have to admit though, they're not nearly as dyed and altered as the other's from the Capitol. They look almost human…

Eventually a find a high window, near District 2 tributes: Cato and Clove. They're talking with District 1: Marvel and Glimmer. Marvel, Cato – the two Thresh is supposed to look out for. I force my way through them towards the window. Cato stops me.

'Where are you going, girly?' he asks me. I scowl; I'm sick of being called 'girly.'

'I'm going to watch District 12.' I tell him. He looks down at my dress.

'What's _that?' _he asks.

I feel myself go red, 'My costume,' I reply shortly. I don't want to talk to these four; they are all quite likely to be the ones who…

'What's that, Cato?' asks Glimmer in high tones, looking at me. She's almost wheedling. I can't believe Cato would call me 'girly' and not her.

'A girl. Tribute. Looking at the costume I'd say…11?'

I nod. Glimmer whispers something to Marvel who laughs. I scowl at them and try to push my way through again. Clove holds my arm.

'Get off!' I tell her, 'I'm just going to the window.'

'It's not polite to push through,' she smiles. 'What are you so interested in little girly?'

They must have seen on my face that I hate the name, I decide. An answer springs to the tip of my tongue, something I can shout back at Clove but I swallow it. No trouble, I remember. I don't want to be killed before the Games begin.

'Lets see first, shall we?' says Marvel, and the four of them crowd around the window. They gasp. Not sarcastically, but a real, amazed gasp. They murmur things to each other. Some of the murmurings sounds are disapproving, some admiring. But what ever it is, it is something worth looking at.

'Let me see!' I demand, stretching up on my toes and desperately trying to see through these career tributes hairs which are thick and oddly styled. 'Let me see! Let me…'

'How did they do it?' Cato wonders aloud.

'Do what?' I ask.

'It's amazing!' cries glimmer

'It's ridiculous,' snorts Clove. 'It's not fair. They're going to get all the sponsors and they didn't do anything!'

'Let me see!'

The four watch for a minute more and then all step away from the window at the same time. Cato and Clove run off. Glimmer starts walking too. Marvel looks at me.

'You can look now, girly,' he tells me, following Glimmer. The noise seems to lessen as I stand on my toes again, craning my neck to see out of the window. I breath heavily and my breath steams up the glass. Rub it with my palm and look through again. It has grown a little cloudy outside. I can't see a thing.

'And that was Diiiiiiiiiiiiistrict 12!' booms the announcer. Well, what a parade! That concludes it, then! There are the tributes! And don't forget to tune in for the live interviews next week! Good bye.' And the megaphone clicks off. The crowds start to walk away, muttering excitedly. A few drops of rain splash down and a few people scream and pop up odd, fabric cones above their heads. I have missed it. What ever Cato and Clove, Marvel and Glimmer, whatever they were so excited by, bewildered by, whatever it was I have missed it. But it's more than that, I know. Yes, I wanted to see the costumes, but I know deep down that I really wanted to see the tributes. Katniss and Peeta. I love the name Katniss. I have never heard it before, but I like it. I heard them that day, outside the train doors and I knew, right from the beginning that I wanted to meet them, team up with them. And now there's something else. Something that made the Career's gasp and exclaim. Something about them that I don't know. I sigh and stare out of the window, even though the tributes are long gone. Even the crowds are out of sight now. But I don't want to do anything else.

I don't know how long I stand there, but I know that I am still watching long after the room has cleared. I am distracted, finally, by a tap on my shoulder. I whirl round, surprised. It's Reed.

'Oh,' I say. 'Is it dinner already?'

He shakes his head. 'No,' he says, 'I need to talk to you. You know – about your strategy. '

I roll my eyes, 'About time,' I say as he pulls me a chair. I sit on it. He stays standing.

'Had has told me that you did not approve of the costume, or his method of explaining it to you. He says you put up quite a fight.' He waits for me to respond.

I look at the floor but say nothing. He taps his foot impatiently. Finally I open my mouth. 'I know,' I say tonelessly, without looking up.

He nods. 'I think you will prefer the next costume.'

I nod, wondering what rags they're going to put me in for the interviews.

'I suppose you want to know about your strategy?' he says after a long, awkward silence. Something like fury bubbles up inside me. I grit my teeth and answer bitterly, still staring fixedly at the floor.

'I know what my "strategy" is,' I tell him harshly, 'I play the little girl, the weakling. I stand next to Thresh to make him look strong, to get him sponsors. To make him win. I don't have a strategy; I'm part of his strategy. Your making me look young and little and weak just to keep him alive!' I realise how dreadful and selfish that must sound but I don't take it back; I'm too angry.

Reed looks at me. I feel the look and I slowly raise my head to stare into his eyes. My neck feels stiff and reluctant and my eyes are watering. I try not to blink.

'Rue…' he says gently. He looks firm but a little pity is hidden beneath his frown as he pulls himself a chair, I'm sure of it. I know from District 11 and all the deaths and hardships, and pity that is needed there that people can't hide their feelings from their eyes. Eyes give away everything – if you know how to read them like I do. 'There can only be one winner,' he says, 'I can't keep you both alive, you know that. I chose Thresh. You know as well as I do he has a better chance than you.'

I look down again. 'So you're not going to mentor me? You're just giving me to Thresh to take care of so there's one less person in the way?'

'There can only…'

'You're just going to send me out there to die? For certain?'

His face is showing pity now, too, but I can tell he's trying to hide it. His lips go thin and he stares into my eyes. I lift my head again and stare back, biting my lip so hard it starts to bleed. His eyes are blue, I realise. But not cheerful, bright blue. Almost grey; a similar colour to his hair, only his hair has strands of brown in it. His small, grey eyes bore into my own large brown ones and he finally whispers 'Yes.'

I can't help it, I blink. All the tears I have been holding back for days spill down my cheeks in the space of a few seconds. Then more come. But I don't choke and splutter. I don't cry. Tears pour silently as I take in for certain what I already knew. I stand up silently and walk out of the room towards the training centre, which we were ordered to go into after the parade. I

It's dark outside and I realise I will never find my way alone. So I sit down on the marble floor and bring my knees up to my chest so I can rest my face on them. I know I am in danger of crying loudly and I don't want anybody to hear me. I realise it must be quite late by now for I am very tired. I sit there, in the pouring rain, for several minutes sniffing and crying, even whimpering occasionally. The sound of the rain drumming on the floor gradually gets louder and louder and heavier and before too long my sobs and cries can hardly be heard, even by myself. Reed does not appear again from the small, box room stood randomly in the Capitol square. So I lie down on the floor and curl up as I would at home when I have lost my way in the fields at night. I try to cover myself with my dripping hair but find it too short. I hate Had for cutting it. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears coming but I'm still crying in my head. And I don't stop until I drift off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I wake the next morning feeling very strange. I am not stiff as I expected to be. I can move all my limbs normally and my hair is dry. I do not feel cramped and my head does not feel as it is resting on a wet, marble pavement Come to think of it, my whole body feels warm and dry. Then I realise there is something soft on top of me as well. I snuggle down and curl up again, hoping the dream will continue. I fell asleep in the fields last night in District 11, I remember, so it must be a dream. But District 11 has no marble pavements, I remind myself sleepily. So maybe I'm not dreaming? But District 11 doesn't have warm, comfy beds either, I tell myself. I jolt myself awake and sit bolt upright as I remember where I am. In a few seconds, what I thought was a heavenly dream becomes a terrible nightmare; I am in the Capitol. Of course.

I fall back on to the pillow as yesterday comes flooding back to me. I remember now: Reed telling me that he's as good as killing me, that I'm part of somebody else strategy – no I said that. His grey-blue eyes boring into my own. Me stamping out of the room, crying, lying down on the pavement outside, in the rain. Reed must have found me, I realise, and carried me in. In where? I start; this must be the Training Centre. I'm in the Training Centre. I'm in the Training Centre.

'Oh, help,' I murmur. The Training has begun. I'm in the Games now.

I swing my legs out of the bed and I begin to think about what happened the day before. Why was I so angry when Reed told me I wouldn't survive? I was never going to kill anybody anyway, I knew I wouldn't win. And yet, when he told me he wasn't going to help me, I still felt so, so angry, let down. I shrug to myself. Anybody can see why, I tell myself, he must of realised _why. _

Next to the bed is a small table, holding a plate of food. The bed is even bigger than the one on the train and is so clean and white that I have to squint to look at it. The whole room is white, like the prep room on the train. Except the walls don't seem so blank; they have creamy wallpaper pasted over them with tiny crimson flowers on them. I like the walls; they're pretty.

I draw my attention back to the food. Some sort of fruit, I realise. Grapefruit. Good. I devour it hungrily in less than a minute before exploring the room feeling a lot better than I did. It is a large room, and if I hadn't of had a taste of the Capitol already I would have probably fainted in shock.

It is about the same size as our one-room house in District 11, only its square, not round. It has a large comfy armchair in the corner of the room which is a creamy-white colour and has some sort of lamp over it. It looks a little like the oil-lamp at home, but it's very different too. It is an upside down-cone with a ball stuck inside, attached to a metal stick that goes onto a round, flat stand. Attached to the stand is another pole but this one is very thin and it bends around over to a plug in the wall. I remember Reed pointing a plug out to me on the train, but I don't know what it does. I know it makes electricity but we don't have any electricity in District 11 apart from the town screens and the mayor's home which I have never been in voluntarily.

Interested, I wander over to the lamp and turn on the plug. Instantly, the only thing missing from it before appears, brighter than any oil lamp at home: light. Even in the white room I can see the light and it makes the room even lighter. I push the plug button again, wondering if it will make it even brighter, but when I do, the light disappears. I bite my lip and wonder if I have broken it. Excuses start to form in my head, and in a few moments I am desperately worried. _No more trouble! _Trouble seems to be pretty attracted to me, I think. Cautiously, I stretch out my finger again and push the button, wincing as I do so, praying I won't make it even worse. The light comes back on, bright as it was before. I push the button again and it goes off. I get the message. It's very clever, I think.

I play with the magic-button-light for a few minutes and then I look around the rest of the room. There is another chair, but not nearly as big and comfy as the other, and it is white instead of cream. In front of it is a small white table which looks like the pavement outside. There is also an enormous wardrobe which nearly covers the whole of one wall and I am pleased to note that it is not white, but red. I realise I am still in my parade outfit. I peel it off eagerly and shove it under the bed, hoping will never have to wear it again. Then I turn to the Big Red Wardrobe and hope that the clothes inside are more ordinary than those on the train.

But they're not; they're even more ridiculous.

There is nothing there half as plain as the fancy yellow dress I found in the train. I am angry now because I know for a fact that not all the girl tributes have wardrobes like this. I've seen them wandering around in ordinary trousers and jumpers, even if they are rich colours and different materials. Why do they give me all these silly clothes? Not more of my strategy, surely?

They are all dresses, again. Silly, fancy little dresses with layers and layers of petticoats and lace under each one of them, frills on top and laced collars. Decorated with tiny flowers or ribbons or something else ridiculous. I roll my eyes at them but I can't help running my fingers along the luxurious fabrics. Velvets and silks of every colour, thickness and texture. I love the textures. It reminds me of the first meal I had on the train with Fesh and Reed (I force my thoughts to steer away from the Fork Incident) and the pot of cream that I poured down my throat. As little as I want to put them on, I can't wait to feel the fabrics against my skin.

I choose a knee-length velvet dress with a silk petticoat. It is dark green and the only decoration is a dark red pin with a flower on it which I take off. I was right; it feels heavenly against my skin. I close the wardrobe door and look into the mirror on the front. I do look pretty in the dress, I realise and it goes well with my dark brown hair and skin. As much as I despise it, I find myself smiling when I look at it.

Just at that moment, I hear a knock on the door and it is pushed open to reveal Fesh standing in a fancy corridor with a thick, red rug on the floor and creamy walls like my own. I surprise her by being dressed and ready for once, when she comes in.

'Well, fancy that,' she mutters as I follow her down the corridor, 'the little animal managed to find her way back after all.'

I am about to scowl at her when I remember that I am going to be all smiley and nice today in this funny green dress. A small voice in my head asks me 'since when?'

'Since now,' I whisper. 'No more trouble.'

I follow Fesh to the end of the corridor by which time Thresh has come out of his room to join us. Fesh tells us that Reed and our stylists are waiting for us on the ground floor, in District 11's Dining Hall for breakfast. Something about the word 'Breakfast' makes my stomach rumble.

Fesh escorts us into a small, glass box and I run over to the edge to look out. We are very high up in the building and I can see miles of luxurious carpets with other tributes and stylists wandering around on them. I can see the floor at the bottom as well. I wonder what we are doing in this odd glass box.

Fesh pushes a button on the wall and to my surprise the doors close. I let out a scream and point to the doors, telling Fesh we have been locked in. She laughs scornfully and pushes another button, marked G. I can see lots of buttons on the wall, numbered from 1-12, with G at the very bottom. She tells me they are District numbers and that we are on 11 at the moment. I ask her what G means but before she can answer, the lift starts plummeting downwards. I scream and rush over to the edge so I can see what's going on. The feeling is wonderful; I have never been so exited in my life! I can see all the floors rush past me and I wave to the people standing on them. As we go down, the numbers on the wall light up. After a few seconds, '10' lights up, then '9' and so on. Just as the '5' turns yellow, the box stops and Fesh grumbles as the door slides open.

I am still recovering form the shock of moving so suddenly and I ask if we have to get out. Fesh says we don't and I grin at her and rush back over to the edge. We are half way down now. The tributes from District 5 enter the box but they do not look exited or nervous like I do. I wonder if they are just hiding it and I tell them eagerly what is about to happen so they won't be too scared. The boy snorts and the girl gives me a sickly smile and explains in a patronizing voice that they know what it is; they have lots of them in District 5. This never occurred to me so I ask Thresh if he's been on one before and he tells me he rode it the night before. Then I feel really stupid and I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the journey (which I am still thrilled by.)

When the box reaches the floor, everybody gets out and Fesh tells me to follow her to the Dining Hall. I don't want to go though; I want to ride in the box again. I make a quick decision between breakfast and the box before telling her that I forgot my shoes and I need to go back and get them. She rolls her eyes but shows me the door I will need to go to when I return and then marches off towards it leaving me in the box on my own. I run to the open doors to wave goodbye to her but just as I stick my arm out, the doors slide shut.

I scream loudly and tug at my arm, biting my lip in agony as the doors continue to press on my arms. Fesh does not turn back and I frantically try to pull my arm back in. Realising I will never make it, I stretch my other arm to the numbers on the wall and push all the buttons hysterically, praying that the lift won't start moving again, leaving my arm behind. The heavy doors are still crushing my arm when I push the last button and a voice tells me that the doors are opening, stand clear. Sure enough, the doors slide open and I rush out of the box, frightened to go anywhere near it and I watch it travelling upwards, stopping every now and then to pick up passengers. However, it doesn't travel in a straight line like when I rode it; it goes up and down and then up twice as much and down three floors. I can see the passengers inside getting frustrated. I realise it must be my fault so I hurriedly trot off towards the door Fesh showed me, looking as innocent as possible.

The Dining Hall is similar to the one at the train and when I walk in to take my place in the enormous chair, the first thing Fesh says to me is 'I thought you were getting your shoes?' which makes everybody look at me.

'I didn't,' I say, 'My arm got stuck in the door and I decided to come out,' and to prove it I use my right arm to lift up my left, which was the one that got stuck. It is horribly twisted and red and the part where the doors crushed it is missing a lot of skin. I wince when I look at it and try to ignore the pain.

'Stupid girl,' says Had and I take my place at the table, using my right hand to eat eggs with my fork as I find I can no longer use my left.

When everybody has finished the meal, Reed stands up and clears his throat. 'It is only three weeks until the Games,' he says solemnly. Everybody but Thresh and me cheer. 'And I have decided to give our brave tributes a little gist to show we appreciate their efforts made.'

'But we haven't even started training yet!' I protest. Fesh gives me a look which clearly says 'Shut up.'

'So here's to Thresh,' Reed continues, lifting his glass, 'And Rue,' he adds quickly when I glare at him.

'Thresh and Rue,' chant all the Capitol people. I smile at them. Thresh nods at them. Then Reed hands us each a parcel. Thresh's big and looks heavy. He turns red and quickly puts it under the table. He looks as if he knows what it is. Mine is flat. I tear off the paper, curiously.

It's a thin book. On the front are three photo's: one of District 11 and one of the Capitol. The third is of the 73rd Hunger games. I open it quickly and see lots of little boxes with numbers inside and a few lines below. Some of them have labels on them. I look at it, puzzled.

'It's a calendar,' Thresh explains, 'It has all the coming events on it so you can remember what's coming up. And you can write your own things on the little lines.'

I nod. 'Thanks,' I murmur, reading the labels. I read 'First Parade,' which has already happened. The box below reads 'First Interviews.' I flick to the next page and see more little boxes with similar labels. I turn the page again. The third page has ten boxes. The first says '10 days to go' the second '9 days to go' and so on. On 'One day to go' there are also interviews, it tells me. The last box reads 'Let the Hunger Games Begin.' I turn the page to look at the paper underneath.

There are no little boxes after the Hunger Games.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

One week to go.

I have been keeping track of the days on my calendar, as Reed suggested. I still don't really see the point of the thing since Fesh reminds us all every few minutes what today brings. And what tomorrow brings. And what the day after that brings. But I cross off each day with a fancy pen I found on my wardrobe, counting how many days I have before…

It has been busy lately. Very. Over the last two weeks, I have been in the Training Centre for nine hours a day. I've learnt a lot of things there, too. Some of them I probably won't use in the Games, but would be very useful at home. Too bad I won't be seeing home again. I can now tie eleven new knots, lift weights that I couldn't three weeks ago and hit a plastic dummy with an arrow. I can also set traps and I've learnt survival skills which is all I'm really going to need. If I survive, I keep living. Simple as. And nobody can kill me if I survive.

It's not very good logic, but it's the only logic I have.

After my first breakfast in the Training Centre, Reed waited until everybody else had left and then pulled me aside. He put my arm in a sling and gave me a small smile as I left. He didn't say a word. My arm has nearly healed now, he says. He told me yesterday that it wasn't a break, just a sprain. He sounded reassuring so I took it as good news. It doesn't hurt half so much now, either.

Last week, we had the first interviews. Had was right: my costume was much better. It was a tiny white fairy dress which even had wings. It was dainty and pretty and it made me feel as light as a feather. I have to admit, if it had of been any other colour (after so much time in these blindingly light rooms I have come to hate the colour) I would have almost enjoyed wearing it. I'm not entirely sure how it fitted in with my strategy but Had assured me that nothing could be more perfect.

It was so nerve wracking, standing out there with every eye in Panem staring at me for sure. There was even a live audience. I was terrified when I went out and I sat down, my legs like jelly. But somehow Ceaser, the interviewer calmed me down. He always said the right thing. I watched him with the other tributes and he seemed all right. He prompted them if they got stuck, or changed the subject entirely if they looked awkward. The boy from District 4 seemed to be trying to play the clown and he told dreadful jokes. But Ceaser laughed politely at all of them. But when I sat down, he just spoke so warmly and said just what I was hoping he would say. When he asked me what my strengths were I told him straight away.

'I'm hard to catch I said slyly, 'And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me.'

The other tributes tittered at that and I heard Marvel mutter that he wouldn't bet on that. I hate Career's. But they've been eyeing me up since the scores came in from our private training sessions. All of them got a little higher than me except the girl from District 4, but when my 7 came flashing up on the screen, they all gaped at me. They were probably expecting a four at the most. But they don't know what I showed them. They don't know what I can do…

I wasn't they only one they gaped at, though. Katniss from District 12 got an 11. They weren't the only ones looking completely bewildered; I was to. I can't say how much I admire her.

Katniss was admired again in the interviews. But not just by me, or the Career's or even all the Tributes. By the whole of Panem, for sure. It was because of what she was wearing. Fire. Literally. After I missed her in the parade, I was determined to see her again and work out what the fuss was about. Now I know. Her dress was covered in jewels that engulfed her in fire the moment she moved. And when she spun for the audience I was in awe. Literally. And when she went to sit down, still engulfed in the flames, she didn't sit down roughly like I thought she would. How we sit in District 11 and 12 (by assumption.) She didn't flop on to the chair or stumble on her heels. She was like a lady. I'm beginning to wonder if District 12 is better than imagined.

I was supposed to spend 4 hours with Fesh before the interviews, learning how to act like that, but she gave up half way through. Then I went to Reed who was supposed to coach me on the interview itself. What he said was pretty predictable: play the girl. The small one, the weak one – and so on. That was supposed to take 4 hours as well but he let me go after ten minutes saying there was 'no more he could say.'

So now I lay here, in my bed. Early morning. Counting down the days. 10, 9, 8, 7…

Thresh hasn't spoken to me for thirteen days. I've been counting. I count everything now.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Five days to go. I have been spending every single day in the Training Centre. I'm not going to win but I won't go down without a fight. And by that I don't mean I'm going to kill.

I want everybody to know that I won't kill because in some ways it's a tiny act of defiance to the Capitol. I'm not drawing attention to it and I haven't said a word to Reed it Had or my ever-lifeless prep team. If the Capitol found out they'd probably kill my family and make my life hell in the arena. They have too much power for us to defy them. So I'm just letting the other Tributes know by not going to any of the weaponry or fighting station. I practice things like knots, survival and climbing. But I only do that when nobody else is there.

Some people have already noticed. Reed congratulated me on it and said I was doing a good job with my strategy. Then I realised what I'd done. Now all the Tributes think I'm too scared to fight and they can easily get rid of me. Great. But some of them thought I was pretending and that I'm going to come and kill in the arena like Johanna Mason from a few years ago. So when District 9's tributes ran past me trembling I took the cue. Now I walk around with a knowing smile on my face. I feel ridiculous but I guess it's working on some of the others.

So here's my strategy. And I don't mean Reed's strategy for me. Or Thresh's idea of what I should do. It's more of a plan really but I'm calling it my strategy so Reed won't become suspicious. It uses some of his stuff anyway. So here goes:

I use Reed's strategy until the Games begin. I play the weakling in everything I do. I make Thresh look good. I make Reed look proud of me.

As soon as I get into the Arena, I completely ignore Reed. He's not going to give me any sponsors because all the money's going to Thresh. He said so himself, so I have nothing to lose. So I'm going to grab as many supply's as I can without getting into a fight. Then I run up a tree and hide there for as long as I possibly can. I hope there are some eatable berries up there because once I'm up, I'm not coming down and I'm not getting into any fights.

I stay up the trees until everybody has completely forgotten about me. I keep track of who's left.

When the last two are fighting, I wait for the cannon to tell me there's one left. They'll think they've won. Then, I wait for them to track me down when they catch up. And just before they kill me, I'll have every camera guaranteed to be pointing at me. So I'll say something really good like: 'I'm not fighting, and I'm not killing. I'm not a killer and I'm not killing for the Capitol.' You know something really big and dramatic. Then I'll let him kill me, right now and then. Then the Capitol won't be able to do a thing about my little speech.

I guess I know it probably won't turn out like that but it's a nice thought.

'Rue!' I hear Fesh squeal as she bangs on my door with her fist. I sit up in my bed, tired. I had been too exhausted to return to the Training Centre after dinner so I had come up to my room to try and get to sleep.

'Come in,' I mumble, but she's already beside me. 'What?' I frown.

'You've got two visitors,' she says excitedly.

That wakes me up properly. 'Visitors?' I repeat. All sorts of possibilities flash through my head. Who's come? My mother? My whole family? No – just two she said. It sounds unlikely anyway. Who could they be? My forehead creases in concentration.

'See for yourself!' she giggles and hurries out of the room. I swear it's the first time she's seen me without criticizing me. Why is she so excited?

It turns out the visitors are separate. I jump out of my bed, smooth the covers and then sit back down again on the edge, forcing a smile onto my face. I don't want whoever-it is to see me looking frightened and miserable which is what I am. The door opens and I bite my lip, stretching to see who it is.

It's Cato.

'Cato?' I splutter. I can feel tears coming to my eyes with disappointment and I brush them away fiercely. 'I thought you were…I thought…' I shake my head angrily. 'What?' I demand. 'Other tributes aren't allowed to…' I break off. He strides over.

'You dropped these,' he says haughtily and hands me two black shoes. I dropped them in the corridor earlier, I remember. 'I volunteered to personally take them to you.' He continues with a sickly smile. I know that isn't the only reason he's come.

'What do you want?' I ask quietly. He narrows his eyes at me and then sits down heavily on my bed making the covers bounce a little. I automatically smooth them down again. (Something Fesh told me to always do.)

We're both silent for a few seconds and then Cato explodes. 'I warn you,' he shouts suddenly, his face burning with anger. I coil back and slide away from him, frightened of this giant who has sat himself down on my bed and is now hollering in my face, 'I win, little girly, I win. I don't know _how _you got that seven in your training and I'd like to know how that stupid 12 girl got that 11. I'm not worried about lover boy; he'll be easy to kill off. But your dead, you hear me?'

I say nothing. I have recovered now and I sit on the pillow, hugging my knees, holding his gaze steadily. I remember "lover boy" from the interviews suddenly. How could I forget? I know his name, Peeta. I remember that clearly. Of course – his announcement to Katniss, the fire girl I want to meet so much…

'You're going to kill Peeta?' I ask which is probably the lamest thing I could have said.

'I'm going to kill every tribute, girly. I'm going to _win.' _He spits. I keep I contact, trying not to blink. 'But, yes, I do need to get rid of Lover Boy. We'll get him to team up with us and kill him in the process. Hopefully 12 girl will die of grief.'

I doubt that, I think. So she looked embarrassed and flattered in the interviews. I know a bluff when I see one. But they convinced Cato…

Cato leans in even closer to me. 'How did you get that seven, girly?' he hisses, 'What are you hiding from me?'

I remain stubbornly silent. He raises his hand and for a moment I think he's going to slap me. Then he thinks better of it and his hand drops to his side. 'I warn you,' he whispers, you're dead girly.' He closes both of his hands around my neck. I shiver. 'You're dead as shit out there.' And he lets me go, narrows his eyes again and paces out of the room.

I hear Fesh telling him he was a very long time. I hear Cato pushing past her, his feet thudding down the Hall way. I'm still shivering when Fesh pokes her head around the door to tell me that the next visitors' coming.

I hardly have high hopes this time but luckily, it's not another Tribute. It's Reed. I wonder why he didn't talk to me after dinner if he wanted to say something. He walks quickly in, shutting the door behind him and then sits down on my bed beside me. His hands are clasped in his lap and he turns to face me. He looks at me for a long time. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look as if he's going to break some big news to me. He doesn't look as if he's going to say anything at all. He just looks at me.

I look back. We stay like that for a long time. I listen to the ticking of the clock as we look at each other, unsure what to do, what to say. So I just sit there, looking back at him. Suddenly he grasps my arms with his hands. His arms are shaking and his grip is tight. I start in surprise and look down at his trembling hands.

'Rue, look at me,' he says sharply, but not angrily. I bring my face up to look into his grey eyes again; oddly pleased he has finally called me by my name and not 'girly.'

He holds my gaze for a few seconds then lowers his head, his eyes squeezed shut. 'I'm sorry,' he whispers, 'I'm sorry, Rue. I can't tell you what – it's the game makers, your seven…the whole thing, it's not right. I'm sorry I can't… you listen. In the arena…' he breaks off and lets go of my arms to bring them to his face for a few seconds. Then he looks up at me seriously. 'I'm sorry,' he says finally and then leaves the room as quickly as Cato did. It seems like the wrong time to think about things like this but I'm getting very annoyed with people just getting up and walking out on me leaving me with a mountain of things to think about. Somebody else comes into my room.

'What was that about?' enquires Fesh as if it were her business.

'My strategy,' I reply dryly. I can tell that Reed doesn't want me to repeat what he said. Fesh shrugs and leaves.

I lie down on my bed, sighing deeply. I close my eyes and think about everything I have just been told. I can't link any of it with anything else. It doesn't make sense. Cato stays at the back of my mind, but I'm focusing on Reed at the moment. What was he talking about? Finally I give up and my thoughts wander over memories of home and District 11until I fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The Games are in the morning. I haven't slept a wink.

It's a pity because it's my last night in a bed.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I am just on the verge of getting to sleep when Fesh bangs on the door and tells me to 'rise and shine, it's a big day ahead.'

Yeah. A big day.

I sit up and wince; a stabbing pain shoots through my right arm. For a moment I wonder if I am going to have two inoperative arms for the Games but when I look at it I see only a red line and a small lump. I frown; I don't remember that happening.

Just then, the door opens and Reed comes in. He smiles sadly at me. He closes the door behind him and leans on it, sighing. He's holding a tray of food. I look at it, wishing I was hungry but I feel too sick.

'This is it, then,' he says with forced enthusiasm.

'Yeah.' I say. I pause. Then I draw a deep breath: 'I don't want to go.' Before I know it, tears are cascading down my cheeks and I'm sobbing and crying all over y bed. Reed comes over to comfort me. He holds my arms and whispers soothing words. I'm so thankful for his comfort that I actually bury my face in his sweater. He strokes my hair like my mother used to. It calms me. 'Have you seen Thresh yet?' I sniff.

He shakes his head. 'Eat,' he coaxes, 'You need to; these are the Hunger Games. '

I give a choked laugh and eat the luxurious breakfast. I try to savour every moment of it but it tastes of nothing but worry. That makes me cry again. 'How do you do it?' I cry at him desperately, 'You won the Hunger Games, how do you stay alive?'

He looks at me grimly. 'You kill.' He says, 'it's the only way.'

'I'm not killing,' I mumble. To my surprise, he nods.

'I know.' He looks as if he's going to cry now. 'Every year,' he says, 'Every other year I send two kids out there to be slaughtered, Rue, it's terrible. I choose one to try to keep alive. I give that one a chance. It's better to have one alive than neither.'

Suddenly I see what he's been trying to tell me all this time. I nod. I understand.

'I'm sorry, Rue.' He says, 'I'm so sorry.'

For a moment I want to shout that I don't care, that it's not fair and him being sorry doesn't change a thing. But I swallow everything and simply nod again. He opens his mouth to say something and his eyes show urgency but at that moment, the door swings open and Had bursts in. Reed hurries out.

'Clothes,' says Had bluntly, tossing a bag at my feet and then stamping out again.

I wonder what Had's dressing me in this time. Then I remember that it won't be a costume like the others. All the tributes will be wearing this in the Arena. I've seen the previous outfits. Some are practical. Some ridiculous. Some torturing. When the Arena was made of ice (with no wood so all the Tributes froze to death in the first week or so) the costumes were torturous. Just a thin T-shirt and flimsy silk trousers. When it was a burning wasteland the outfit was practical. Sturdy shoes, tight trousers, thin vest. And once, in the 59th Games, the tributes were each given a ridiculous costume of some sort that was awkward to move in, let alone fight or climb. Most Tributes preferred to rip off their costumes and fight without clothes, but the ones who left them on died first. It turned out that was the whole point – the costumes were extremely flammable and the Game Makers sent a fire on the first day.

But I'm pleased with this years outfit. It's practical and simple. The best I could hope for I suppose. So I'd rather go out there in my District 11 clothes, yes, but this is good. Simple black trousers and a hooded jacket. Sturdy boots made of soft leather. Everything is very comfortable and fits perfectly. I walk around a little to get used to the boots. I really do like them, but I know that the moment I get into the Arena I'll take them off; I can't climb in shoes.

Had re-enters and asks me if I'm ready. I shake my head. He snorts and leads me out of the room anyway. 'You're going, girly.' He says, 'Goodbye.' He leads me up the stairs and onto the roof where I am to be taken into the Arena. I stand on the grey circle he indicates. 'Anything you want to say?' he asks me.

This question is so ridiculous that I actually give a small laugh. Yeah, there are loads of things I want to say. Like 'I hate the Capitol,' and 'why do you all do this to me?' and 'I want you dead Had,' and the like. Unfortunately, the last comment would probably guarantee no sponsors and I can't possibly tell him the others. Reed maybe, but not Had. So I just sigh and shake my head. He glowers at me.

'Thanks,' he snaps, 'No sign of a quick thank-you then?'

'What for?'

'For all the costumes and kindness I've given you!'

I force myself to keep my mouth shut after that; if I open it I will probably say a lot of stuff I won't be able to take that. Luckily, a few seconds after the awkward silence, Fesh, Reed, Thresh and Thresh's stylist appear at the top of the stairs. Fesh and the stylist are talking excitedly to Thresh. Reed is nodding every now and then. Thresh looks scared as he takes his place on the circle. He looks different in the Arena costume. Weaker even.

'Goodbye Thresh!' simpers Fesh, 'Until we meet again!'

Thresh nods curtly.

'Good luck,' whispers his stylist winking.

'Thresh, I know you can do it,' says Reed, 'You have to. You know everything we talked about. I know you can win, Thresh, I know it. You have to. And besides, we could do with another mentor; there are only two of us.' Reed is grinning at him, looking a lot different from how he did when he was in my room this morning. He looks – powerful.

Like Thresh did. Fesh and the other stylists are still chatting to Thresh as the glass slides around the circles, enclosing us in a small space, like the Magic Box in eth Training Centre. Fesh gives me a small wave without even looking at me; she's still shouting at Thresh through the glass. Reed turns to me. 'Goodbye, Rue,' he says blankly.

I want to say so much to him. I want to tell him I need sponsors, but I know that they'll all go to Thresh. I want to scream at him that I hate it, it's not fair, but that's a fairly bad idea from every point of view. I want to ask him what he's been trying to tell me but I can tell, although it's my last chance, now is not the time to ask. So I wave back, shut my eyes to block the world out and think about my plans. I'm terrified, my legs are jelly and I'm breathing too quickly. I can't believe it's happening: it's really happening. All the nightmares I've had each night are finally coming true.

The glass circles are moving upwards. A few days ago I would have enjoyed the sensation.

Reed looks as if he has changed his mind. He opens his mouth and shouts up at me but I can't hear him.

Had and Fesh stare at him in horror.

Had is confronting him, pushing him roughly. Fesh is squealing and waving her arms.

Reed looks up at me and tries again. I can barely see him now.

Had pulls Reed down the stairs. Fesh and the other stylist follow.

I wonder what has happened.

I look across for Thresh but he's gone.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I wait.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

When I open my eyes, I am in the Arena. I know this because I can see all the other tributes on little silver circles beside mine. I quickly scan my surroundings. Trees are in front. Good. A thick pine forest is just what I need. Behind me is a lake. Should I run for the lake? I wonder. No, the woods are my best option.

And that's it. That's the Arena.

Thresh is on my left, Looking determined. To the right of me of me is District 12's boy: Peeta. He's looking at Katniss. I try to look round him to see her but I can't make it without stepping off my circle, and everybody knows that if you step off before the gong, you get blown to bits. For a moment I actually consider doing it on purpose – ending everything quickly. Then I remember my plan.

My plan. Of course – I close my eyes, trying to remember it. What was the first step? Supplies – yes, I need supplies. I look around for the Cornucopia, or what ever it was called. Yes, there it is. I can see the weapons and bags around it. Everything I could possibly need is there: sleeping bags, food, weapons. If I got everything, the other tributes wouldn't stand a chance. I squint at the supplies, singling out the things I need. I spot a bow and arrow and long for it. I know I'm hardly any good with it, despite all of the practise I've done, but it's my best weapon. Then I remind myself that I won't need weapons.

Suddenly, the gong rings, making me jump in surprise. But I know what to do. I dash for the supplies, hardly knowing what I want. I make up my mind to just grab whatever I can and run for the woods. I see Cato stab somebody holding a blue backpack. He grabs the bag and runs off with the careers. I see Katniss struggling with the boy from District 9. The boy is killed by another girl who I do not recognise. Suddenly, I feel sick. I grab a small yellow bag and sprint for the woods. I'm not risking he bloodbath there. I hear Cato shout my name but I keep running, hardly daring to open my eyes, breathing quickly, heavily. Gasping and shaking as I run for cover.

I'm in the woods, I realise frantically. I look behind me, not letting my legs stop for a second. Nobody is coming after me but I can still see the lake through the trees. I need to go further in. I stumble over a log and let out a cry as I am sent sprawling to the ground, landing on a thistle that digs painfully into my ankle. Ignoring it, I haul myself up and pause, catching my breath and looking around. I can hear voices. Suddenly I realise what I should have done the moment I entered the woods. I frown, wondering how I didn't think of it. I don't hesitate. I climb up the nearest tree quickly and easily. I keep climbing until I am at a good height, at least 10 metres above the ground.

I run across to the end of the furthest branch and then spring onto the next tree. I love the feeling; I feel like I am a bird, so free and nimble. None of the other contenders know about it. I can escape this way and leave them wondering where their pray has disappeared too. I'm faster like this, too, and much better hidden.

Eventually, I decide that I am far enough into the woods. All I can see around me are trees. I find a comfortable spot in the branches and open the bag. I have been climbing and running for a few hours and I am tired, thirsty and very, very hungry. I pray there is some sort of blanket in the bag, or at any rate something of some use. I empty its contents into my lap.

There is a pair of socks, a box of matches, a water skin, a small knife and a metal tube. And that's it, I realise in despair. I have a pair of socks, a box of matches, a water skin, a small knife and a metal tube to survive on. I open the water skin and to my relief I find it is filled. I drink about a quarter of it. The water tastes a lot better than the water we have at home but it's not clear, like the Capitol water. These are the Hunger Games, I think. At the mere thought of 'Hunger,' my stomach growls. I decide it's time to go and find some other things to live on. I think of every plant, medicine and source of food I have ever used in District 11 and spend the next few hours searching.

Over this time my throat becomes as dry as sandpaper again and I am forced to drink more of my water. I know I will have to find a new source before long. Then I remember the metal tube in my bag and I pause to sigh in relief. I have all the water I could need and I know it. For the first time since I grabbed this tiny bag, I am glad to have got it. I gulp more water down greedily, saving only a drop in case I can't find the energy to stick my tube into a tree to absorb the moisture from it. I can't remember what the hollow tube is called but I remember all the lives it has saved back in District 11, when people get lost and have only their day sacks with them. Providing they have this with then, they can't die of thirst. And neither can I.

By the time I settle down with enough supplies, it is very dark and my eyelids are drooping. The day has gone considerably quickly. And well. I know that there are many, many Tributes who will be starving, gasping for water at this very moment. There are more who are dead. I have heard the cannons all day. And I'm here, my thirst quenched and my water skin re-filled. I have socks on my hands to stop my fingers from dropping off over night. I have many, many berries I have collected from the forest that I recognised from home. I have tried and tested each one to make sure they are not poisonous and my stomach is more or less filled. I also have several large leaves that I found. I know, from home, that if I add water, they will become a source of medicine and will drain poison out of wounds.

I am very, very lucky and I know it.

But when the tributes faces appear in the sky, the scene blackens and the air grows bitter, I am unable to keep the tears from my eyes. As each tribute appears, I know that they are dead. They will never live again. Their families are grieving. Their Districts are solemn and sad. The Capitol has murdered their children for their own entertainment. Right then, I hate the Capitol more than I have ever hated it before.

But after the faces, I come back to my senses and realise that I need to start thinking about myself. I don't want to; I can hardly tear my thoughts away from the children who have died, but I know that I must. My teeth are chattering violently and when I force my eyes to stop staring distantly into the black, I realise that I am absolutely freezing. My breath comes out in gushes of steam. The whole place is pitch black and I wonder if my jacket has frozen to me. I move my fingers to warm them up but they are too numb to be any use. I realise that I am never going to be able to climb and find a warmer place to sleep. I am going to have to stay here and grit it out until morning. I take off my jacket and huddle myself in it, pretending it's a blanket. It's slightly warmer like this, but still hellish. I lean against the branch, about to try and sleep when I suddenly remember something: my matches.

Almost not daring to believe my luck, I wrench the socks off my hands and reach for my bag, gritting my teeth in the pain of the cold. I stretch out each finger in turn, trying to retrieve the matches. I know I can't start a real fire; I just need a single flame to warm my fingers. I could usually have made a fire from sticks and stones but I don't have the strength or warmth to do that. Even this is going to be difficult, I realise.

Eventually, by clenching my fingers together and using my thumbs as levers to prise the matchbox out of the bag, I have it on my lap. My fingers are shaking violently, along with my hands, my arms and the rest of my body and are going to be of little use. I long to slide my hands back into the socks, although they are also becoming stiff and cold now, but I take a deep breath and slide the match-tray out. The moment my fingers make contact with the box I close my eyes in pain. Who would have thought the cold could be so painful? But very clumsily, I take a match between my middle and index finger and strike it against the side of the box. My hand is still shaking and it barely brushes it. I push harder the next time and the match breaks. Crying out with frustration and cold, I take another match, this time in a better position and strike it three times again. First nothing – then a small spark – and then a tiny flame comes, making my smile muscles come back to work for a few seconds.

The warmth reaches my fingers first, and they seem to burn for a few seconds. It's hardly much warmth but it's a lot better than nothing. The flame licks my fingers and the temperature change is so sudden my hand starts to shake uncontrollably, sending the match flying down through the branches beneath me.

'No!' I cry out as I watch it tumbling down. It lands in a pile of something which makes a rustling sound. Leaves. The match disappears and the light dies out, and for a moment I think it has extinguished. (I do not want to be tracked down by lighting a fire.) But then a yellow claw emerges from the centre, licking the leaves around it which set alight too. Within a few seconds, the pile is burning brightly.

Fearfully, I rush higher up the tree until I must be completely out of sight and cannot go any higher because the flimsy twigs are hardly holding me up at all. Sure enough, it is only a minute before I hear Glimmer's voice:

'Over here,' she says softy, 'I saw it.'

'There!'

I hear footsteps running in my direction. They skid to a halt.

'Well, fancy that!' says Marvel, 'Some idiot really has lit a fire. But where are they?'

'I don't know. Not here anyway. Let's just go. I'll bet it's a trap.' This voice is different. I frown in concentration.

'Shut up, Lover Boy, what do you know about killing?'

Peeta? I wonder if he's really down there with the Careers.

'I'll bet you they've just heard us coming and run off,' says Clove, looking around nervously as if somebody was going to pounce on her with a knife. (Who knows, maybe they are?')

'Who'd be stupid enough to light a fire here?' asks the boy from District 4, whose name I can't remember, 'I mean, in the Arena?'

'Maybe it's Lover Boy's girlfriend?' suggests Marvel, 'Catnip, wasn't it?'

'No, no,' Cato tells him haughtily, 'she's too clever for that. I reckon it's Girly.'

'Girly? How did she survive the first day? You mean that little runt from 11?'

There's a moment of silence and I assume Cato is nodding as he's making 'hmmm' sounds. I am suddenly so scared that I lose my balance and the twig beneath me snaps sending me sprawling to the branch below. I feel ever head below turn upwards. I hardly dare to breath and I keep my eyes tightly shut.

'She's up there,' Glimmer whispers pointlessly.

'We'll get her right here and now then,' I here Marvel declare.

'How?' asks Clove, 'I'm not climbing up there in this light, I'll break my neck!'

'Use your night-glasses, you stupid girl!' Cato tells her.

Night glasses? They have the name wrong I'm sure, but I know what they're talking about. How did they get those? I hear Cato bring two pairs out of his bag and give one to Clove. How come they got all the good bags?

'We can see you up there, Girly!' calls Cato. I wonder if he really can see me. 'Come down and fight or we'll come up and wring you're neck.' His cheerful voice doesn't suit his words. I stay exactly where I am, holding my breath at all costs.

'Are you climbing?' asks Peeta anxiously. _Anxiously? _

'No! I never said I was climbing.'

'Yes, you did.'

'I said _we'd _come and get her.'

'Well if _we _all go up there,' argues Glimmer, 'then the tree will break.'

'Go up on your own then!'

'_No!' _she squeals. 'Just kill it from down here.'

I release my held breath in one big gush, trembling all over. I see a knife fly past me and hit the wood beside me. I shut my eyes to stop myself crying with fear, and try to block the whole thing out.

'Let's leave it for now,' Peeta says gruffly, 'It may be a trap you know.'

To my surprise, the others follow him away. Clove even yawns. Maybe they really do just want to go to sleep. I'll be ready for them in the morning though, whatever. Thinking about sleep makes my eye's droop. I swing down a few branches and stare at the burning leaves until my eyes shut and I dream about Cato and Peeta pinning me to the ground whilst glimmer carves patterns in my face with her knife.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

I wake coughing and spluttering, struggling to breath. My lungs are tight and my eyes sting like lemons. I seem to be sitting in a grey cloud: I wonder if the Game Makers are trying to gas us. I inhale a single painful breath through my nostrils (which sends me off coughing again) and I immediately feel dizzy. It's smoke – there's a fire. The Game Makers have started a fire.

I don't stop to think about anything else. Grabbing my rucksack, I leap to the next tree, coughing and inhaling more of the deadly smoke. My eyes sting and have gone cloudy and I have to feel my way through the branches. My lungs are screaming out and I can smell the fire as well s the smoke now. Sure enough, when I look behind me, I see a tree, a few metres back, burning, engulfed in eth flames that spread to the next. I force myself not to freeze there in terror and continue running through the trees, the flames just behind me. I wonder if I will really be able to outrun them if I stay up here. True, I move just as fast in trees as on the ground, plus I am unseen by other tributes, but smoke travels upwards, and it is slowing me down.

I pause to retch, which is even more painful than breathing, and in the brief moment, I feel the heat of the flames less than a metre behind me. If I did not want to save my breath for more useful and less life-threatening things, I would scream. But I don't; I continue running. Nothing is stopping the flames and I know that my only hope is to get to the lake. It's miles away, I know, but because of my metal tube I have not had to find a source of water yet and do not know of any but the lake.

I hear voices, belonging to the Careers and Peeta. They too are shouting and coughing and running to the lake. I suddenly wonder if I should take out my water skin and attempt to slow the fire with it. I stop to retrieve it but in a split second the flames catch up and I feel the tingle around my neck.

The next thing I know, I am falling through the air, crashing through the branches, engulfed in flames and screaming in agony. I land on my back on the floor and the numbness is so sudden and terrifying that for a moment I actually wonder if I am dead. A few seconds later, I roll on the floor, throw off my jacket and boots, which are still alight and run, once more. The smoke is thinner and the agony in my chest not quite so great. I wonder desperately how much longer to the lake. I think about how many miles I travelled the day before and how rapidly the fire is burning. Will I make it?

I spot a cave and a thought flashes into my mind. My feet fumble for a minute, deciding which way to go, but when I think about how hopelessly far away the lake is, I dash for the cave and dive inside.

The floor is knee deep in soil and stones. I pick out rocks and build a flimsy wall in the mouth of the cave to stop the fire. But I am quite far away now, and in a lot less trouble than I was.

I am still coughing, breathing heavily, but I am feeling better already. My skin is covered in burns and blisters but as far as I can see, no major damage has been done. Gradually, breathing becomes less of an agonising chore and in a few hours, even my chest is virtually pain-free. I have put my healing-leaves on all of my burns, having to chew them because I do not want to waste my water supply if I have to stay here for long, and most of the pain has gone. I have taken what's left of my clothes off and set them aside in the cool soil because they are frightfully painful against my blistered skin. My jacket and boots are somewhere out there, burned to crisp, and I realise how cold I am going to be tonight. My top has been ripped in many places and is black with dirt. My trousers are not much longer than knee length and are of a similar state. When I look down at my body, I see I am brown with dirt and grey with soot and smoke. I put a hand to my hair and feel it is more matted and tangled than it has ever been. If I run my finger along my cheek, it comes off with a centimetre of filth on it.

I lie down in the dirt and shiver. It is much cooler in the cave than outside, of course, but it is too cold to be comfortable. But, I remember, it is a lot warmer than the top of those trees at night. I put my clothes back on now my burns are less ferocious and, after a moment of deciding, place the socks on my hands, leaving my feet cold and bare. I bury myself under the soil and place my head on my bag as a pillow. I suspect it is around midday and I eat a few of my berries and nuts. I wish somebody would sponsor me and give me food; I am nearly running out of supplies.

That's when I realise there is no way I can stay in this cave for more than a day; I will run out of supplies very soon and will have to leave to gather more. I ma also bound to be discovered is I stay here for long and, why not admit it? I prefer being up in the treetops.

So I spend the rest of the day in the cave (very bored) with nothing to do but listen to the very occasional cannon that tells me how yet another innocent girl or boy has been murdered. I doze off a lot, and daydream about things that will happen and how I want them to happen. Eventually, my thoughts wander to how I am going to die which fills my head with a lot of unpleasant possibilities. Finally, the Anthem plays and I feel myself drift off for the night, only just remembering to congratulate myself on surviving my second day.

I wake early the next morning and decide to leave the cave for good. I eat the rest of my food, drink a good lot of water and kick down my stone 'door' to head for a tree.

I have to travel quite a long way before finding one that isn't black or dead or burned to the ground. The fire has destroyed a lot of the Arena. I wonder why the Game Makers planned a fire out of all things. Well, I think, it's a good way of bringing the tributes together and possibly killing a few too. I think of the cannons I heard and, once again, loath the Capitol.

I gather more medicine-leaves, more berries, and refill my water skin, before settling down in a tree and closing my eyes, amazed, despite my Plan, that I have made it this far: nearly three days. Hardly an achievement for some of the stronger tributes, like Cato and Thresh, but for someone like me…

I rub my cold feet and my thoughts steer to Thresh and Reed again. The first feeling I feel for Reed is hatred – that I have got nothing so far whilst Thresh is probably buried in sponsor gifts. Then I start to wonder what happened before I went to the Arena. My memory is fuzzy but I can still see him trying desperately to tell me something, biting his lip in anguish. Had silencing him with a look. Reed shouting something up at me as Had and Fesh lead him away, fighting him, screaming at him. I wonder what has happened to him. Maybe he's an Avox now. Maybe it was all an act and he's fine. Maybe it was to worry thresh and me? No, I can't imagine that being the case. More likely he's being hung or tortured for whatever he tried to do. I find myself missing him.

But if Reed is gone, then who's controlling the sponsors? The answers obvious: Had. No wonder I've got nothing, I think bitterly.

I open my eyes and sigh. I look around at the coal black trees, the destruction done by the fire. I remember how desperate I was the day before. I remember all the pain I felt, how I struggled to breath, choked and coughed on the smoke. How dreadful the whole experience was and how lucky I am to be alive. Then I remember the night before, how desperate I was for a fire…

Then it all flashes back and the horrible truth hits me: it was me. I remember my hand shaking, the match falling down, the leaves burning, the Careers marching away…me drifting off, warmer than I thought I could be…

I started the fire. It was me. I gave the audience the show.

And whoever was killed in it…

They were my kill.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

I spend a long time in a tree. I hear the Anthem twice, but I'm not aware of anything that's going on. I'm just there, with my eyes shut, my knees drawn against my chest, and my mind blank. I don't think about anything. I don't think about my high fever, my aching muscles, the children I killed. I don't eat, I don't drink. I don't die. I don't live. I don't do anything.

But after three days, I am threatening to die of starvation which would be ridiculous because I am surrounded by foodstuffs. So I force myself to open my eyes and fetch supplies. I manage to spend a whole day doing so because I move so slowly. I t hurts to move and I'm hopelessly tired, despite not moving for days. I am also very weak from my fever and lack of food. I force myself to choke down a few berries over the day though. I refill my water skin and gather up more medicine leaves which I store in my backpack, which has become considerably light.

After climbing around in the trees for so long barefoot, my feet have become as tough as Capitol steak. I test them by sticking a long thorn into the ball of one. I barely feel a thing, however far I push it in. When I take it out, no blood is drawn and I know I will not have to worry about losing my boots in the fire.

By the time it is getting dark, I am shattered . I have spent a little time on the floor and it feels odd to be on solid ground again. I wonder if I should sleep down here for a night until I spy the Career's camp close by and, with a terrified squeak, scramble up the nearest tree and lay in it, my eyes shut and my belly fuller than it has been for days.

A few moments later, I am awoken by a sharp stabbing pain on my wrist. I hear a buzz and nearly jump off the branch in fright. I haul myself into the next tree and huddle in a ball, chewing up my leaves for my sting, frightened to go back to sleep. How did I manage to fall asleep under a Tracker Jacker nest? I know I was tired, but I must have remembered to check my surroundings. Cato could have been right next to me for all I knew!

I am now far too cold and far too scared to go back to sleep. I sit there, silent apart form my teeth rattling, for several hours. I have drained the venom out of the sting before the hallucinations or anything serious began and am left with just a slight itch. But more stings and it could become dangerous. So I stay awake, ready to move but to stiff and tired to move further away now.

Suddenly, I hear the snap of a breaking twig and angry mutterings from the tree beside me. Then the unmistakable sound of a bag being thumped down on the branch. A tribute! Guiltily, I hope it's Cato who's about to be devoured by the deadly wasps. Then I remember that the wasps aren't the only things who aim to kill out here. So I peer through the branches and gasp.

It's Katniss Everdeen! I've found her, I realise. But is she going to kill me, too? Maybe she's as deadly as Cato – or worse?

But, to make up for all the people I might have killed in the fire, I whisper her name urgently a few times so she turns towards me, frowning. But her eyes widen when she sees who it is. I jerk my thumb upwards and then disappear into the branches, praying that she got my message and that the Game makers didn't.

The next morning, Katniss is still alive, and so am I. I listened for cannons all night but heard none. That's a relief at least.

I see Katniss again sooner than I expect. She pokes her head through to my tree and makes a sawing action. I frown in puzzlement for a moment. Then I remember the Career's camp below. Would she? Would I? Perhaps. I picture the Career's screaming and running from the nests, half of them dropping down dead from the stings. And Peeta! I wonder if she knows.

But I nod and disappear, wondering if I have just killed somebody else. I wonder if any of this counts?


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_Sorry, I haven't updated for ages! This chapter may not be very accurate to the real thing; I couldn't get hold of the book to find out exactly how this bit happened so kind of made it up…(sorry Suzanne Collins) Also, I haven't written for ages so is probably not my best chapter…_

I watch the Careers from the tree, biting my lip. The nest crashes down on them and, unsuspecting they immediately panic. Some are stupid, like that Glimmer from District 1. I feel a guilty twinge of pleasure as I watch her squealing, trying to fight off the wasps and screaming in agony every other second as the deadly venom stabs into her skin. Others – like Peeta, I am glad to note, do the sensible thing and run for the lake. Cato is with them, I realise, and I loathe him more than ever. Why does he have to be in the slightest bit smart?

After a few minutes of watching them, I finally decide it's too much and disappear back into the branches. Ten minutes later and the cannons are firing.

I'm not sure how long I sit there after that, wondering what to do with myself. I'm not hungry. I'm not thirsty. I have no stings. I am not dying. I just don't know what to do with myself – again. I am getting fed up of feeling so useless. Again, I'm on the verge of killing myself, just to get out of that horrible feeling. I look around: the only way to do it would be to jump, but the annoying thing is I've done that so many times before I might survive, and end up paralysed on the floor, just waiting for Marvel to come and stab me, which I don't want to happen.

Katniss has come back. She has a bow and arrow which I don't remember seeing before. I wonder if she's come to kill me with them: I certainly hope not. At that moment, I am certain I would rather die any other way than to be killed by her. The one I missed in the parade at the beginning. The girl on fire. Is she going to kill me here and now, I wonder?

The thought terrifies me and I recoil hurriedly, ready to fly from the branch if I need to. What comes next is totally unexpected.

'Hi.'

I look at her, puzzled. My eyes scan her up and down, narrowed into slits. She must think of me like some sort of animal, I realise as I do so. Then I remember that she just said 'Hi' to me. _Katniss Everdeen just said 'Hi' to me. _I take it in and stop analysing her, embarrassed. 'Hi.' I say back.

'Rue, isn't it?'

She knows that, I think, she's just trying to make conversation. Why? I nod curtly.

'Katniss,' I return.

'Listen, Rue, I've been thinking,' she says, 'you – you're a good fighter, you know, you got that seven…'

'I'm not killing for you,' I say defensively, 'I'm not killing at all.'

'I know that, I know that,' she says hurriedly and watches me relax a little. 'I was thinking…maybe if you wanted to…team up a bit. You know, help each other, kill – get rid of the Careers…'

'Like Allies?' my eyes light up.

Katniss smiles, 'like Allies. As Allies.'

Slowly, I decide to trust her. She seems to trust me, after all, so why shouldn't I do the same back? Then I look earnestly at her.

'I'm no good at anything.' I say. Why does she want to be Allies with me? Maybe it's a trick. No, not Katniss, she wouldn't…

'You are,' she tells me, 'You can fly! I watched you!'

I smile shyly.

'Hard to catch,' Katniss says.

I nod.

'Listen, I really, really want you to be my Ally.'

'Really?'

'Yes!'

I trust her. I nod: 'Ok. Allies.' And we shake on it.

'That means we have to help each other,' Katniss tells me, 'We have to do everything we can to stop the other being killed. Agreed? And we have to help each other to get rid of the other tributes.'

'I'm not killing,' I remind her.

'I didn't say kill,' she replies.

No, you didn't, I think, but for some reason everybody assumes that everybody means 'kill' here.

'What do you mean?' I ask.

'The Careers,' she says, shifting on the branch to make herself comfortable. She's got a plan, I realise. She needs my help. 'They didn't all die then, you know that?'

I nod. 'Peeta ran for the lake.'

'Clever Peeta,' she says unfathomably. 'Look, the Careers. They don't really know how to survive here. Not like we do. They rely entirely on sponsors for things like…'

'Food,' I say, seeing where she's going.

'Exactly. So,' she lowers her voice and looks around. At first I think she's looking for people, but then I remember the cameras that are everywhere. Why doesn't she want the Capitol to know her plan? Of course…it will affect the sponsors. 'What happens,' she asks me, 'if they have no food? We're not going to kill them, Rue, we're going to blow up their supplies! Even it out. Make them…'

'Play the Games,' I reply. I get it. 'Is that like killing?' I wonder aloud. Katniss shakes her head. I find myself agreeing.

'You'll have to do the actual blowing up,' I tell her. She nods.

'We'll discuss it in the morning.' She says, 'I just wanted to let you know.'

I notice she's wincing, and spot three Tracker-Jacker stings. I have an idea and reach for my bag, retrieving my leaves. I chew on them vigorously. She watches me, bewildered. I spit them out, and slap the green pulp down on her leg. I smile as I watch her puzzled face turn to a deeply relieved one. I can almost feel the poison being sucked out of her. I feel something lighten in my chest at the sight of somebody else's smile of comfort, which I haven't seen for so long. I have an urge to climb higher into the tree but I resist.

'Do my neck!' she begs, and I grin.

Fifteen minutes later, all of her stings are invisible and she seems a lot more relaxed. The anthem plays and I look away when she watches the faces of those who have died in the air. I take my socks out for the night and shiver. She sees me and I turn scarlet. I'm about to say I'm fine when she brings something out of her own bag.

'You can share my sleeping bag of you want.'

I gape at her but, before she can change her mind dive into the soft seemingly-luxurious fabric and bury my face into it, my mouth still wide open in wonder. I whisper 'thank you' and mean it more than ever, but I don't know if she hears me. I am warmer than I have been in days and want nothing more than t make the most of the opportunity, even if she is going to stab me in my sleep.

By the time she has strapped the bag to the tree and climbed in herself, and I have squeezed myself as far to the edge as possible in order to give her as much room as I can, I am asleep, thinking that this is the first day in the Arena I can call a close to-good one.


End file.
